


Anthropocene

by firebrands



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Blade - All Media Types, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Noir, Marvel Ultimate Universe, Marvel Ultimates, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Civil War Fix-It, Don’t copy to another site, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Iron Man Noir - Freeform, Kid Steve Rogers, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, Multiverse, Post X-Men: First Class, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebrands/pseuds/firebrands
Summary: Anthropocene: (noun) the current geological age, viewed as the period during which human activity has been the dominant influence on climate and the environment.This is a story about how across timelines, across universes, it's always them: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, and how their relationship will always influence those around them. This about them getting it right, over and over again, until it sticks.(A soulmate AU, and eventually a civil war fix-it.)Stony Bingofill for the prompt: “our lives are ridiculous”





	1. 1962

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I wanted to make this a fluffy story about Tony and Steve going on vacation and then having to fight off a monster in their underwear.
> 
> Instead, I wrote this.
> 
> I came across the word “Anthropocene” while reading something (I don’t even remember, now) and then I googled it and then I thought about, well, how Steve and Tony would be for every decade of the anthropocene. And then, I thought about how I could make that into a fic. And now we’re here. My first ever soulmate AU. Cue trumpets.
> 
> Will be updating this weekly! Big thanks to [duckmoles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckmoles/pseuds/duckmoles/) for the beta! <3

Tony wishes there was something to blame for how cloudy his vision is. Smoke, or dust motes, or fucking _ onions_, anything other than the pain roiling inside him. The hurt. The _ betrayal_. Tony wishes there was something physical, that these are just reflex tears and nothing more—but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter as he walks up to Bucky Barnes and blocks out the sound of Steve groaning behind him. _ It doesn’t fucking matter_, he tells himself, raising his palm, repulsors ready—

Bucky gets a leg under Tony, then all of a sudden, Tony’s in the air and just as quickly down on the ground, Steve on top of him, shield raised. The HUD disappears from Tony’s vision as the mask flies off his face and Tony raises a hand to stop Steve, and the small, wild, irrational side of his brain continues to hope that this is when Steve decides to stop the fight. But the rational part of him is screaming to fire everything, because Steve could’ve stopped any time before now, and he hasn’t, he won’t. 

Tony’s vision is cloudy again, and his mouth isn’t working, but he doesn’t know what he would say if he could get it to work, anyway.

“He’s my friend,” Steve says, and Tony isn’t imagining the crack in his voice but he _doesn’t_ _care_.

“So was I,” Tony bites out, the repulsor in his hand lighting up, all emotion zapped from his body.

Steve raises his shield and Tony moves his hands in front of his chest—_ too slow, too slow, who are you compared to a Steve Rogers _—the shield crunches against the reactor, and then they’re engulfed in a flash of white light.

*

Tony stands stock-still beside Professor Xavier. He wants to fidget, feels like there’s lint on his shirt, but even here, miles and miles away from his father, he feels his disapproving glare, so. Tony doesn’t fidget.

He’s only been in the school (“for gifted youngsters”) for a few months, but no one else is his age (eleven, thank you very much). Today, that was going to change.

“Remember what I told you?” Charles asks, smiling down at Tony. He runs a hand through his hair, which means he’s a bit nervous. He has the right to be; there aren’t that many students here yet, but the ones that have arrived--“We’ll need your help in making him feel welcome,” Charles adds.

“I know,” Tony says, keeping the annoyance out of his voice. He doesn’t really care to make anyone feel welcome. No one certainly made _ him _ feel welcome when he arrived. 

But that might have been his fault, Tony thinks to himself, despondent. Charles had reassured him, in the days after his parents had left him there, that they’d teach him to harness his powers, that he could learn to control how people’s touch would affect him. So far, the lessons didn’t take.

Charles clears his throat and Tony stands up straighter, pushing those thoughts away. A yellow taxi pulls up in front of them, and a small, blond boy peers up at Tony from the seat. 

Tony quirks his lips up into a smile, and hopes that it looks friendly (not forced). The boy turns to look at the woman behind him (his mom, probably). 

She nods, and the boy turns back to Tony, smiling a bit sheepishly.

Charles opens the door for them, shakes the woman’s hand, and then bends down a bit as he shakes the boy’s.

“This is Steve,” the woman says. Tony looks up with a start when he realizes he was being addressed. Tony looks at the boy, who’s dressed in a creased light blue shirt. The buttons on his shirt don’t match.

“I’m Tony,” he says. His arm moves to shake the boy’s hand, a reflex he hasn’t been able to break, and he pulls it back and tucks it behind him immediately upon becoming aware of the motion. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the ground. He fights all instinct to kick a pebble with his foot.

“Why?” Tony looks up at the sound of the boy’s voice. _ Steve _.

Tony looks up at Charles, and then at the blonde woman. They’re watching the two of them with small smiles on their faces, hope clear in their eyes. 

Charles nods at Tony.

“I don’t really….” Tony mumbles. “Anyway, what’s your power?” he asks.

Above him, Charles snorts. “How about we move this discussion inside over some tea?” he asks, gently turning Steve and Tony to face the mansion.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” the woman says. Tony looks at her, and he notices her grip on Steve’s shoulder, how tight it is, tight enough to further rumple the fabric. A single tear rolls down her cheek. “Mr. Xavier—I need to be back in the city for the afternoon shift,” she says, and there’s a small quiver to her voice, and Tony’s attuned to all these things that lead up to adults crying, but it doesn’t make it any easier to see.

“That’s all right, Sarah,” Charles says, giving her back a soft rub. “You can visit any time. Like I said over the phone, you can call, too, if you’d like to talk to him. Preferably not during school hours, but we can arrange something.”

The woman, Sarah, nods. Tears are flowing freely down her cheeks but there’s no sound coming out of her.

Tony looks at Steve, who is toying with the hem of his shirt. Tony notices it’s a bit frayed.

“Stevie, baby,” Sarah says, crouching down to pull Steve into a hug. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles, the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment. “I love you too.”

Sarah raises her hand to cradle Steve’s head, petting his hair absently as she whispers to him.

Tony watches greedily, cataloging the ways this woman shows her care. 

Steve’s lips wobble, and Tony looks away before Steve begins to cry. He can hear the way Sarah is whispering harshly into Steve’s ear, but he doesn’t want to hear it. Already, his vision is swimming in front of him.

“I’ll see you soon, Steve,” Sarah says, her voice tight with emotion.

“I love you, mom,” Steve says. 

Tony remains still, listening to the gravel crunch as the cab begins its way around the rotunda and out of the grounds.

Steve’s hand brushes against Tony’s as he walks toward the door, following Charles who has already disappeared inside.

A yelp forms and dies on Tony’s lips, and instead he sees a man who looks like Steve—older, certainly, and much larger, too, looming over Tony. They’re somewhere that’s mostly concrete, and it’s cold; it smells like ozone and smoke. All Tony can feel is a bone-crushing pain in his chest. Steve’s eyes are red-rimmed. He raises a shield (a _ shield? _) up above his head, and Tony registers that it’s going to come down and cleave him in half, probably—

Tony comes to and hears someone screaming “Don’t!”

Then he realizes it’s his voice he’s hearing, and he snaps his mouth shut.

Steve is above him, pale (paler). “Are you okay?” he asks, a little breathless.

Tony scrambles away from him, his hands digging against the sharp rocks. “Get away from me!” he yells, and seeing that there’s enough distance between them, he picks himself up and runs.

*

Tony’s fumbling with a ball of cotton soaked in alcohol, trying to drum up the courage to press it against the scratches on his palms when a knock on his door interrupts him. 

“Tony? It’s Charles.” 

The knob turns, and Charles pokes his head in. “Someone would like to speak to you.”

Tony frowns. “I would rather not speak to anyone,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice measured. Useless, really, against a telepath, but he tries anyway. Charles _ did _ tell him he wouldn’t use his powers without his consent.

“I think it’s in both of your best interests to speak,” Charles says, smiling at Tony a little. “Please?”

Tony sighs, feeling much older than he is. He always feels that way after the visions, mostly because he _ is _ older in them. And mostly because he’s always hurt in them, too, for some reason. “Okay.”

Charles opens the door wider and ushers Steve inside. He looks like he’s been crying. Tony feels a surge of vindication at the thought.

“Hi,” Steve says, looking at his shoes. 

“Hi,” Tony answers, setting aside the cotton ball and standing up from his chair.

Charles nods at Tony over Steve’s head and leaves.

“Professor Xavier told me about your powers,” Steve says. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I know,” Tony sighs again. “No one ever means to. It just happens.”

They’re silent.

“What did you see?” Steve asks, worrying at his lip.

“An older you. We were fighting. You were going to kill me,” Tony says, emotionless. He’s learned to disassociate feeling from these visions as a protective measure. It’s something Charles was trying to teach him to unlearn.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again.

“It wasn’t really you,” Tony says, dismissive. “At least, not yet.”

“I would never,” Steve says fiercely. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You don’t know that,” Tony says, matter-of-fact.

“Neither do you.”

Tony bristles, but doesn’t say anything. He knows not to continue conversations like these. He’s had too many already.

The silence between them is awkward. Tony wishes Steve would just leave already.

“Can I help?” Steve asks, gesturing to Tony’s hands.

“It’s okay,” Tony says, hiding his hands behind his back. “I can do it.”

“Please?”

Tony shrugs. “Why?”

“Because it’s my fault.”

Tony makes a face, worried that if Steve touches him, he’ll see something again. He’s too tired from earlier today to experience anything else.

“I’ll be careful,” Steve promises. “Just put your hand on the table and I’ll clean it up for you.”

Tony can feel his blood flowing down from his palms to his fingertips. “Okay,” he mumbles. “But try not to touch me,” he adds.

Steve nods firmly.

Tony places his hands on the table, and Steve picks up the soaked cotton. He dabs gently at Tony’s palm, and Tony hisses through his teeth from the sting. They’re quiet for a while as Steve does this, the awkwardness from earlier eventually fading.

“The President said that they’d put a man on the moon,” Steve says quietly, looking up at Tony.

“What!” Tony exclaims, pulling his hands away from Steve to raise them up in surprise. “When?”

“A while ago, on TV,” Steve says, gesturing for Tony to place his hands back on the table.

“What did he say? When are they doing it? Who’s going to go?” Tony asks, intent on shaking information out of Steve.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugs, helpless at the onslaught of questions.

“A man on the moon!” Tony cries, exuberant at the idea. “That’s amazing!”

Steve laughs at Tony. “Cool, right?” He captures Tony’s hand in his, bent on cleaning out the wounds. 

Tony only realizes Steve is touching him when he looks down at his hand because the pain has subsided. He braces himself for another onslaught of visions. They don’t come. He peers at their hands, wondering why not.

Tony startles when he sees that the wounds are gone.

“What,” he says, drawing out the ‘a.’ He stares at his hand, raises his palm to his face to study it. “What!”

“I was going to tell you,” Steve looks a bit embarrassed. “But you didn’t want me to touch you, either.”

“This is blowing my mind,” Tony says reverently. “Do the other one!” he says, thrusting his hand at Steve.

Steve chuckles, taking Tony’s hand in his.

Tony watches, transfixed, as his skin knits itself back together. He hopes, more than ever, that his vision earlier was wrong. 

“I’d like us to be friends,” Steve says, gently extricating his hand from Tony’s.

“I’d like that too, Steve."


	2. 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an Iron Man Noir AU, featuring pre-serum Steve.
> 
> You don't need to have read the comics to understand! But just for context as well, Iron Man Noir #1 has Tony & Rhodey on an adventure with Virgil (their chronicler) and Gialetta Nefaria, who is Tony's sort of love interest. Of course with a name like THAT she betrays them and kills Virgil. This scene takes off from when Tony gets back to civilization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again I just want to thank Duck for the beta!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 ily

**** The journalists are asking about Virgil. Irritating, personal questions that Tony doesn’t have the answers to, and if he did, he wouldn’t answer them anyway—it’s too soon. Too fresh, hot like Virgil’s blood on his hands when he’d pulled him up from the floor to check, one last time, if there was any hope…

“Sir, your 10 o’clock is waiting,” Rhodes says, and Tony’s sure he says it to cut the press conference short.

“You ever heard of the aardwolf, Rhodes?” Tony quips, playful in front of his audience.

“Only species of hyena to attack its prey before it’s fully dead,” Rhodes deadpans, and ushers Tony up from his chair.

Tony waves off the reporters with a smile and a parting line about writing obituaries with class, and turns to Rhodes to ask who he’s meant to be meeting. 

Rhodes swings the door to Tony’s office open and they both stop in their tracks, shocked. 

There’s a skinny man bent over a notebook, and at the sound of the door opening, he turns to look up at them.

He stands up quickly, setting his notebook aside as he moves to walk up to them. “Mr. Stark,” he says. “I’m Steve Rogers. Your new chronicler.”

Tony shuts the door behind him and Rhodes.

“Sure you are, buddy,” he says, smiling a little, and shooting a look at Rhodes that he hopes conveys how out of his depth this kid is. Because that’s what he is: a kid—scrawny and small and would probably die as soon as a mosquito deigned to land on him. 

“You’re the one Mr. Munsey sent?” Rhodes asks, leaning his hip against Tony’s desk as he assesses Rogers.

“Yes,” Steve grinds out. He extends his hand to Tony: “it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shakes Rogers’ hand, surprised at the strength of his grip.

“Look, kid,” Tony says, sighing a little as he pours himself a drink. “Next place we’re headed to isn’t a walk in the park, and I don’t have time to hold your hand through it.”

Steve huffs. He’s probably used to this, which makes Tony feel a bit bad adding to his portfolio of letdowns.

“I can write and I can draw. I can hold my own in a fight. I think my frame can help when there are places that are hard to reach, and I can carry what I need for the trip,” he says. The spiel sounds rehearsed, which is a bit endearing.

“You know what happened to Tony’s last chronicler?” Rhodes asks, shrugging at Tony: they have timelines, to consider, too—the publisher gave them two weeks to get back with a story for the magazine, and Captain Namor wasn’t going to wait around, not after they’d already shanghaied him into bringing them to Atlantis.

“Yes.” Rogers nods. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“And you’re sure you can handle yourself, wherever we’re going?”

“Just tell me when we can start.”

Tony flops down onto the couch opposite Rogers and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Show me your work,” he says, extending a hand and curling his fingers to his palm.

Rogers hands Tony his portfolio and looks over his shoulder as Tony flips through the pages. His eyebrows rise as he goes through Rogers’ work. “You’ve got skills, Rogers” he says, not bothering to mask his disbelief.

“Of course I do. Mr. Munsey is a hard man to please,” Rogers sniffs. “And call me Steve, Mr. Stark.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Yeah, well call me Tony, then.”

Rhodes, who has made his way over to them to look at Steve’s portfolio, rolls his eyes at the exchange.

“So what do you say, Tony?” Steve asks, a small smile on his lips as he looks down at him. “Partners?”

Tony sighs, and gives Steve an appraising look.

Steve responds with a frank stare.

Tony feels drawn to him, for some inexplicable reason. Part of him is all too ready to trust Steve, and it scares him, especially after Gialetta. But it’s different, this strange pull, like a tide during a full moon. Stronger, somehow, and more sure than anything.

Tony shrugs. “Okay,” he says, standing to shake Steve’s hand. “Welcome to Marvels.”

Steve’s smile is as bright as the sun. 

“Don’t die on me,” Tony adds, smiling ruefully.

*

Tony’s never cared much about his chroniclers—he usually left them to do their work and didn’t feel the need to check in on their progress. He was always too focused on planning the next trip, charting boats, finding maps, double and triple checking information.

So it’s a surprise when one night, Steve shows up at his doorstep with a typewriter tucked under his armpit.

“I have some questions,” he says, without any preamble. “And I need as much time as I can get to finish this before the deadline.”

Tony holds open the door and lets Steve in. “Couldn’t wait for tomorrow, I take it,” he says, leading them towards the kitchen. “Dinner?”

“No and yes, please,” Steve says, following behind him closely. 

Steve sets up his typewriter on the counter and pulls a notebook and pen out of his bag. “I just want to make sure that I haven’t missed anything too important,” he says.

“Other than what I’ve already told you?” Tony turns to look at Steve inquisitively from where he’s bent down to check the oven, where Jarvis usually set aside some food.

Steve’s cheeks flush, as if he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Y-Yes,” Steve stammers, then bites his lip as he composes himself. “They were helpful for illustration purposes. But I just want details right for the piece.”

“You know you have artistic license, right?” Tony asks, laughing a little. He stands up slowly, making sure to arch his back as he does. Behind him, Steve clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

“I just want to do right by the story,” Steve says, after a beat. He’s smiling a bit shyly at Tony. “And since your last chronicler—”

“Right,” Tony says, cutting Steve off and sliding a plate filled with chicken and potatoes in front of Steve. “Can you eat and write?”

It’s almost midnight when Steve yawns and thanks Tony for dinner. 

“Come over any time,” Tony says, and is surprised to find that he means it—and not just the part of him that enjoys the way Steve’s cheeks turn pink when Tony looks at him from under his eyelashes. Steve is insightful, curious, and  _ handsome _ . For the first time in a long time, Tony’s looking forward to spending a few weeks on a boat, because those few weeks meant spending more time with Steve.

It’s a day before the story is due for publishing and Steve shows up on Tony’s doorstep again. It’s past dinnertime, and he looks a bit wild around the eyes. “I’m almost done,” he says. “I want you to see it.”

Tony smiles, ushers Steve inside. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Steve says. “I’ve already had too much.”

Tony guides Steve to the den, where a fire was already going. 

Steve removes his jacket before he sits on the floor. He opens up his leather satchel, pulling out the story and some illustrations and lays them flat against the floor. 

Tony kneels down beside him. “I’m afraid I don’t have my glasses,” Tony mumbles. 

“That’s okay,” Steve says. “I can read it to you.”

Tony gets up to make himself a cup of coffee and sits down on one of the chairs in front of the fire. 

Steve clears his throat, and begins to read.

Tony closes his eyes lets Steve’s clear voice wash over him. Again he finds himself thinking that after Gialetta, he’d be a bit more wary about letting people into his life like this. Still, it’s hard not to grow fond of Steve, and after almost two weeks spending every evening together, it’s hard not to trust him, either. And underneath all of that, there’s still that strange feeling from when he’d first met Steve, like he knows him.

Tony cracks an eye open to peer at Steve, who has stopped talking. “And then?” he asks.

“Just checking to see if you were still awake,” Steve teases.

“You could never bore me, Steve,” Tony admits, smiling when he sees Steve duck his head to hide a blush.


	3. 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no powers college au, 1999.

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off,” Bruce says, yanking out the auxiliary cord attached to the lab speakers. “I can’t hear myself _think_,” he adds, taking Tony’s walkman and slamming it on Tony’s workbench.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Then get headphones,” he says, picking up his player and making his way back to the control panel.

“No!” Bruce yells, grabbing the hem of Tony’s shirt and tugging him away from the stereos. 

“Please! For the love of god, just one evening without AC/DC,” Bruce pleads, knuckles white around Tony’s shirt. “I just need to finish this experiment, and I need as much focus as possible. And I can’t concentrate when my brain beats along to your music.”

Tony takes a deep breath and shakes his head at the grad student. “I hate you,” he says, gingerly disentangling himself from Bruce’s grip. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Bruce grumbles. 

“Can you at least play some form of music?” Tony asks.  
Bruce opens his mouth to respond. 

“Not classical!” Tony adds quickly, remembering the one time Bruce made it to the lab before him and Tony spent (what felt like) hours suffering through _The Magic Flute_.

Bruce’s shoulders sag, and he’s quiet for a moment as he thinks. “I think the most democratic solution would be college radio,” he says. “That way we have music and also have no choice.”

Tony shuts his eyes in silent prayer. Only losers listened to college radio. Still, it would be better than just hearing the sound of their breaths.

In any case, it’s not like he has much of a choice; Bruce is already bent over the control panel and turning the dial as he searches for the frequency.

Tony sighs again, making sure Bruce can hear it over the static, before turning to lose himself in his work. 

The evening drags on and Tony finds himself staring at a line of code that doesn’t seem to take. He reads it out loud, but stops when he hears another voice. He turns to look at Bruce, who is happily chugging along at his desk. Tony turns to the speaker, and finds the source for the disembodied voice that knocked him off his concentration.

He _knows_ that voice. Tony bites his lip as he thinks of where he must have heard it before. Not college radio, surely. This is the first time he’s listening to this awful station. But where else? Maybe in a class together?

“Good night everyone! This is Steve Rogers, signing off with the much requested _Someday_ by Sugar Ray!”

Tony gapes. “_Fuck no_,” he hisses, and shuts off the radio. “This is _gross_.”

The next night, Bruce pleads with Tony again, which is why Tony resolves to introduce this DJ to better music. He can’t keep listening to the Billboard Top Ten if he wants to be able to get any work done.

After some research, he finds the Arts building that houses the radio station. Tony smiles to himself as he slips a CD into a locker labelled “Steve Rogers.” 

*

Tony’s taking a break from work (the crick in his neck is more of a distraction than ever, so he figures he has to do something about it), when Steve, the DJ, says: “Now here’s a special request from an avid listener, who couldn’t bother to call in his request but instead sent over a mixtape. Thanks, Tony!” Steve laughs, which sends a strange thrill down Tony’s spine.

“This is _Would?_ By Alice in Chains!”

*

A tall, blond man is standing in the lab. Bruce is too focused to notice, and Tony only does because he’s making himself a cup of coffee.

“You lost?” he asks. The guy is hot, even if he’s just wearing a baseball shirt and jeans. Tony hopes he isn’t lost, or if he is, he hopes he stays a bit, just for Tony’s visual enjoyment.

“Are you Tony?”

“Who’s asking?” Tony asks, even if he already has a slight inkling to the answer; he knows that voice, he’s sure of it now. He’s been listening to it for the past week.

The air seems to sizzle around them. Tony can tell Steve is checking him out, too, just by the way his eyes wander over Tony’s arms and chest. It was a good day to be in a tank top and pulling apart an engine. 

“Steve Rogers,” he says, after a moment.

Tony brightens. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Tony.” Tony sets aside his coffee. “What brings you to the science side of campus?”

Steve rolls his eyes good naturedly and he shakes his head. “Thanks for the mixtape.”

“You are very, very welcome,” Tony says. “Want more? I already have a playlist ready. Not nearly enough metal, if you ask me.”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking,” Steve teases.

Tony huffs, a small smile on his lips.

Steve digs through his bag and hands Tony a CD, with a tracklist scrawled on the back. “For your consideration.”

Tony smirks as he looks it over. “All right, I’ll bite.”

“Thanks for being a patron of college radio, too, I guess,” Steve laughs. Again, the same jolt of electricity down Tony’s spine; _this is ridiculous_, he thinks to himself. _It’s just a laugh_.

Steve is still smiling at him, and Tony fights down a blush.

“Hit me up when you’re done listening,” Steve says, already turning to leave. “Let’s grab coffee sometime,” he says, over his shoulder, and _damn_, Tony thinks, eyes trailing down Steve’s broad shoulders, his slim waist, and his wonderful, lovely, amazing ass. _Hate to see you leave_...

*

Tony takes a quick shower and pulls on his cleanest shirt before he sprints up to the Arts building. He’s timed this, and he knows he should be at the station just as Steve’s wrapping up.

Tony positions himself _just so_, leaning casually against the lockers outside the studio, and bites down a giddy smile when he sees Steve shut the door and do a double take.

“Tony?”

“Hey,” Tony says, amping up the charm.

“Hey yourself,” Steve says, mimicking Tony’s pose against the door.

“Listened to the mix yet?”

Steve snorts. “How can you think with that noise?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, which shows the impressive definition of his bicep.

Tony swallows and regains his composure. “How dare you,” he says, mock-indignant. “Also how dare you with your playlist,” he adds. “I had to take a walk. Your music's too heartbreaking.

Steve laughs and pushes himself off the door frame. “Wanna get out of here and grab a drink?” he asks. 

Tony nods and follows him out of the building. 

“Do you know how hard girls would fawn over you if they discovered your real taste in music?” he muses. They’re walking side by side now as they cross the quad, the cool autumn air shaking leaves off the trees.

“I don’t care,” Steve shrugs. “I only wanted you to fawn,” he says, smirking at Tony.

Tony bites his lip and bumps Steve’s shoulder with his. “Flirt.”

“You started it,” Steve grins, and reaches over to hold Tony’s hand.


	4. 1976

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve and tony, vampire hunters, working with blade, in the 1970s.

It’s raining. Of course it’s raining. Tony tsks in annoyance as he fumbles with his lighter, which had gotten wet because of the rain.

Steve glances at him and clicks his own lighter to life wordlessly, offering Tony a light.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbles around his cigarette.

Steve turns back to stare at the empty street, the yellow lights making the wet asphalt glisten.

Tony flips open his notebook, again, for the third time in the past twenty minutes, peering over his notes in the dim light. There was a nightstalker hideout here, or at least there was supposed to be. He tapped his pen against the pad, full of nervous energy.

“Stop that,” Steve snaps, reaching over to Tony’s pen and nearly crushing it in his large fist.

Tony rolls his eyes and takes his pen back. “What if they’re not here?” he asks. He wouldn’t put it past Blade to send them on a wild goose chase, especially after the last time he’d yelled at them for bickering. 

“They’re here,” Steve says stiffly. “They gotta be.”

“Or else what?” Tony smirks. 

Steve huffs, and reaches over to open the glove compartment. The movement casts light on Steve’s neck, and Tony stares, thinking about how easy it would be to just press his lips against the exposed skin. Tony's seen the way Steve looks at him, and Tony knows Steve has seen the way Tony's looked at him, and well. To do anything more than look in this line of work invited a lot more trouble than it would be worth.

Steve straightens, having retrieved an unopened pack of cigarettes. He lights it up and they smoke in silence.

“What if we just go inside and check?” Tony hates wasting time like this, sitting around in Steve’s old Ford Falcon and scoping out places that more often than not are dead ends. “Remember that time in Queens—”

“In the bakeshop, yeah,” Steve finishes gruffly.

Tony pouts. “I wanted to tell that story.”

“We were both there,” Steve says, impassive as ever.

They return to smoking in silence. Tony eyes the front door of the dilapidated house. It doesn’t stand out much; this is the rougher side of town and Tony’s at equal risk of stepping on broken glass as he is getting ripped apart by a vampire. Strange, really, that this is his life.

Tony opens the door of the car gently and Steve’s arm shoots up to grab his shoulder. “Tony,” he says, tone warning.

“Just the window. If there’s nothing then let’s blow this joint.”

Steve pushes Tony down onto the leather seat and rubs his temples with his other hand. “How many stakeouts is it going to take until you learn to be patient?” he asks, sighing.

“It’s been three hours!” Tony says despairingly. “I could’ve been watching Hawaii Five-O.” He wrestles away from Steve’s grip and steps out into the cold night air; thankfully the rain had slowed to a drizzle. He closes the car door gingerly. It’s late, and it’s so silent along the street that Tony can hear the soft tapping of rain that had collected on the leaves of the trees. 

“Quiet,” Steve orders, stepping out of the car as well. 

“I  _ know _ ,” Tony hisses as he makes his way across the street and up to the house. There’s no movement inside and Tony picks his way across the unkempt lawn. 

He knows Steve is following closely behind him, can hear him breathe. They’ve done this so often he can tell that Steve is just about to tell him that he’ll circle ‘round the back and Tony can check up front.

“I’ll go up—”

“I’ll check the back—”

Tony grins over his shoulder at Steve and gives him a thumbs up. “See you on the flip side,” he says, unclipping the holster on his side. He crouches by a large bramble and pulls out his gun. Muzzle pointed down, he moves quietly up to the front of the house, sidestepping around the porch. In his periphery, he can see Steve moving quickly around the side of the house.

Tony peers into the window and  _ god damn it _ , he thinks, wanting to bang his face against the window,  _ I hate it when I’m wrong _ . There are at least eight vampires in the living room and kitchen alone, talking amongst themselves.

Tony ducks down and begins to move away from the house; after checking like this, he and Steve always rendezvous at the car. His mind is filled with strategies on how they’d attack, neither of them really keen on ever calling for backup. 

It’s a rookie mistake, really, to have your mind elsewhere as you’re extracting yourself from a danger zone. He should know better. 

Tony’s mind screeches to a halt when he feels the ground give way under him, and he recognizes the trap for what it is just as he trips it.

*

Tony wakes up dazed. His face is hot. He pats himself down as he slowly comes to full consciousness, checking to see if he was bitten, if he still had all of his limbs, standard stuff really—

A hand lands on top of his and Tony stops moving. Belatedly, he realizes that he can smell smoke, and the heat on his face is from a fire.

Tony turns his head and Steve is sitting beside him, mouth pressed into a thin line and parting only as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“What--” he starts, moving to push himself up to sit. Steve moves his hand from Tony’s to push him back down.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, and Tony’s brow furrows at the hollowness in Steve’s tone.

Tony pushes himself up to rest on his elbows, if only to stop his head from swimming. Steve’s hand stays on his shoulder.

“Steve?” Tony surveys their surroundings. He’s on the unkempt lawn, and the house is on fire. No one seems to care much.

Steve turns to Tony, and Tony sucks in an involuntary breath. Steve’s face is dirty with soot and some blood, but there are two distinct lines down his cheeks from tears. Steve was crying. 

“_Steve_,” Tony says, pushing Steve’s arm away and sitting up fully. He cups Steve’s jaw with his hand and turns Steve to face him. “Are you—”

Steve grabs Tony by the shoulders and kisses him full on the mouth. “God, Tony,” he says as he pulls away. He looks at Tony straight in the eye, their noses almost touching. Half of Steve’s face is illuminated by the blaze, the other half hidden in shadow.

Tony swallows, then tips Steve’s face down to kiss him again.

“Next time, we go together,” Steve says, his breath harsh against Tony’s mouth. “I am never leaving you alone again.”


	5. 1956

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the cold war, 616-style, with a slight sprinkling of identity porn.

Tony all but slams the door shut as he leaves Fury’s office. Steve jogs a bit to catch up with him in the hallway.

“Tony!” Steve calls, grabbing Tony’s arm and spinning him around to face him. “What’s eating you?”

“I can’t just leave the country whenever Fury wants,” Tony snaps, yanking his arm away.

“We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t need you,” Steve says. “You’re the only one who can identify Vanko and help us get the information we need.”

Tony opens his mouth to retort, but Steve cuts him off: “You don’t need to bring Iron Man, either,” he says. “Like Fury said, we need to keep this covert.”

A pained look flashes on Tony’s face. He shakes his head and reaches into his jacket pocket for his flask. Then, just as quickly, he aborts the motion. 

“Tony,” Steve says, checking a room to see if anyone is inside before tugging him in. Steve shuts the blinds and locks the door. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Steve asks again, quietly.

“It’s nothing,” Tony says, waving him off and reaching for the door. 

Steve takes Tony’s hand in his and squeezes it gently. “Please?”

Tony shakes his head and then presses a kiss absently to Steve’s cheek. “It’s fine, it’s nothing,” he says. He raises a hand to Steve’s face, and brushes Steve’s cheek with his thumb. 

They’ve only been doing this for a month, but Steve still finds himself blushing whenever Tony does things like this. Steve leans into Tony’s touch, and then turns his head to kiss the inside of Tony’s wrist.

They gaze at each other for a moment, savoring that they can touch each other this way, now, finally, after so many months skirting around each other. Steve smiles softly and leans forward to press a kiss to Tony’s lips.

Tony melts under him, parting his mouth open slightly, then abruptly jerks away when Steve’s hands shift away from Tony’s arms and to his back. He always does this when Steve moves to touch him anywhere else. 

Steve tries not to read into it too closely, remembering how Tony had looked at him with a mix of fear and hope when Steve had confessed his feelings. Maybe he was just slow to warm to things like this; at this point, Steve knows better than to let himself expect anything other than the unexpected from Tony.

*

It’s almost daybreak when they get to the hotel. They had spent their evening hunched over in a bar, strategically located just across another bar which Vanko supposedly frequented, hoping to tail him if he did show up. (He didn’t.)

“Unfortunately, sirs, the rooms were double booked, and we’re full up,” the receptionist says, biting her lip with embarrassment at facing both Tony Stark and Captain America. “Believe me, if we could do anything—”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, irritated.

“It’s fine,” Steve cuts in, placating the young woman. “We can share a room.”

“It’s just one night,” Steve says, turning to Tony. He doesn’t ask why Tony’s so keen on staying in different rooms, anyway. He’s afraid to find out the answer. Sure, it’s only been a month, but he was hoping that Tony would be a bit more excited at the thought of them sharing a room, he was hoping that it could be the night he finally—Steve stops his train of thought, and Tony takes the key from the receptionist with a huff.

Tony pushes the door to their hotel room open and stops at the doorway. He lets out a strained, strangled laugh.

Steve peeks over Tony’s shoulder and sees the cause for Tony’s dismay: a single king-sized bed.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Steve says immediately. “If you’re uncomfortable.”

Tony steps inside the room and makes way for Steve in the small hallway before shutting the door. His face is pinched. It’s the face he makes when he’s dealing with a difficult problem.

Steve’s heart sinks.

“It’s fine,” Tony says, finally. He sits down on the lone couch and rests his chin in his hands.

Steve leans against the desk, crossing his arms. “No it’s not. Anyway. I don’t mind the couch,” he says, and it hurts to say it because he doesn’t mean it, not really. He’d do anything to lie in the same bed as Tony, wanting nothing more than to lie with him and wrap him in his embrace. And maybe a bit more than that, if he’s being honest. 

Tony sighs. “Really. It’s okay. We can just sleep on the same bed. I really don’t mind.”

Steve shakes his head. “Seems like you do.”

Tony stands up and shucks off his jacket, hanging it up in the closet. “It’s not that,” he says quietly. Tony turns back to Steve, a smile plastered on his lips. “You want to shower first?” He asks, clearly trying to change the subject. He fumbles absently with the top button of his shirt, as if caught between removing it and keeping it on.

Steve takes a steadying breath and closes the space between them. “Let me do that for you,” he murmurs, placing his hands on top of Tony’s, pushing his fingers aside to clasp the buttons.

Tony stills, then grips Steve’s hands tightly. “Steve,” he whispers.

They look at each other, the air suddenly thick with tension. There’s something strange and unnamed between them still; a wall Steve is desperate to break, if only he knew where to hit.

Tony wraps his hand around Steve’s and pushes away. “Steve,” he says again, and Steve startles at the fear clear in Tony’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Tony scrunches his face up in irritation. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he says, sighing.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Steve says, taking a few steps back away from Tony to prove his point. “We can just lie down and sleep, we can have a pillow between us if you want, I don’t mind—”

“No, that’s not it,” Tony says, letting out another deep breath. He looks a bit pale, and Steve can see a slight sheen of sweat on his neck. “God,” he says, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Let me just show you.”

Steve swallows and nods, both afraid and confused. He watches, wide-eyed, as Tony unbuttons his shirt, and his mouth parts in shock when he sees what’s underneath. 

He stares at the chestplate Tony’s wearing. He’d always had a feeling, but it’s still a shock for his theory to be suddenly proven true. “ _ Tony _ .”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, eyes on the floor. “I wanted to tell you, so many times, I just didn’t know how.”

Steve moves towards Tony and cups his jaw with his hand. “Thank you for telling me,” Steve says, turning Tony’s head to level with his.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Tony says, eyes still downcast.

Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer. “It’s okay,” he says. “I wish you did, too, but I don’t know how I would’ve done it either, if I were in your situation.”

“You wouldn’t have a stupid secret identity in the first place,” Tony says, a small, mirthless laugh escaping from his lips.

“We don’t know that,” Steve smiles, and presses a kiss to Tony’s nose. 

“You’re not mad?” Tony asks, voice soft.

“Nothing to be mad about,” Steve says, pressing another kiss to Tony’s nose, then one to each of his cheeks. “Honestly, I’m glad it’s you.”

Tony blanches. “What do you mean?”

“I’m glad you’re Iron Man.”

A blush rises to Tony’s cheeks. “You’re something else, Rogers,” he says, smiling a little. 

Steve smiles. “And you are, too, Tony Stark,” he says, pressing a quick peck to Tony’s lips. “And I like all of you, and I want all of you.”

“You already have me,” Tony says, placing a hand on Steve’s chin to tip his face upward. “I’m yours.”


	6. 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah, young love. steve/tony in avengers academy.

Steve and Tony are lazing in the quad across Stark Tower, sharing a box of fries and watching the colors of the sky shift as the sun begins to set. It’s one of the few times they both have free time, and Tony had asked Steve to hang out and not do anything, relishing in the respite from responsibilities. 

They’d spent an hour playing pool at Club A, and had passed by Janet’s to look at Halloween costumes. Steve was partial to a sheriff outfit, and Tony had tried to buy it for him, but Steve wanted a few more days to mull it over. Then, they went to buy some snacks, and that’s how they ended up lying on the grass.

Steve rests his weight on his elbows and tips his head back to look up at the sky, which is hazy orange now. “This is nice,” he says, before popping another fry into his mouth. He can hear Tony playing with his Rubik's Cube beside him, still trying to bring down his solving speed from its current forty-five seconds.

Tony sits up and fills Steve’s vision. “Hey, Steve?” Tony asks, smiling nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Steve sits up, taking a quick survey of the campus.

“Nothing!” Tony says, hands up to placate Steve. “I just, uh. The Tower looks nice, right?”

Steve sits up properly, dusting his arms off before turning an appraising eye to Stark Tower. Tony’s last name continues its scroll across the expensive computer screen on the Tower.

“Yeah, I guess?” Steve says, turning to Tony and cocking his head.

Tony bites his lip and glances quickly between Steve and the tower. 

Steve looks again, checking to see if he missed anything new. The screen on the tower goes black. Beside him, Tony sucks in a breath.

And then the ground beneath them begins to shake. “I HAVE AWAKENED!” a voice booms across the campus.

“Oh come on,” Tony groans, and Steve doesn’t have time to ask why, instead, he hauls Tony up and tells him to suit up.

*

“You’re acting weird again,” Steve says, hands on his hips as he looks pointedly at Tony. 

Tony shuffles a bit, doing his best to keep whatever he has behind his back out of Steve’s line of sight. “No I’m not,” he says.

Steve raises an eyebrow in response.

“Anyway! Bye!” Tony says, turning on his heel and running off.

Jan drags her hand across her face and groans.

Steve furrows his brow, and Bucky calls him back for his turn of pool.

*

Steve leans back on the wooden library chair and sighs contentedly. It’s rare for him to have quiet moments like this, when he can let his thoughts wander and realize how lucky he is, even after everything. To wake up around four decades into the future was a surprise, definitely, but finding out that there were people like him, that there was an Academy that would train them, made Steve feel that this wasn’t such a bad thing to wake up to.

Tony’s sitting across Steve, continuing to read and highlight his thick physics book. He looks up as he feels Steve’s gaze on him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, smiling softly at him, at the affection welling up inside of himself. “Just appreciating you,” he says.

Tony snorts. “Well, if that’s all,” he turns back to his book.

“Hey,” Steve says, after a beat. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Tony’s hand freezes on the page he was about to turn. He looks up at Steve, eyes glassy. “Excuse me?”

Steve reaches over and takes Tony’s hand in his. “Be my boyfriend,” he says, smiling down at Tony. 

“What? Why?” At the second question, Tony slaps his hand over his mouth and then buries his face in his hands.

“Why?” Steve cocks his head. He wasn’t ready for this question, which is par for the course when dating Tony, really. “Well,” he says, leaning over the desk between them and pressing a kiss to Tony’s knuckles. “Because we’ve been seeing each other for a while now,” Steve ducks his head and sits back down, feeling a bit embarrassed at having to explain himself. “And I’d like to keep seeing you. Just you,” he finishes.

Tony smiles, shakes his head. “I can’t believe you beat me to it,” he says. “But then again, of course you did.”

“So that explains you acting weird,” Steve says, relaxing a little. 

“Sorry,” Tony says, biting his lip and looking sheepish. “I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“And it has been, Tony,” Steve says, smiling fondly at Tony. He reaches over and takes Tony’s hand in his again. “So? What do you say? Be my fella?”

Tony laughs, loud and full, immediately shushed by someone in one of the nooks behind them.

“Sorry!” Tony whispers, still smiling. He turns to Steve. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course I want to be your boyfriend,” he says, kicking his chair back and leaning over the table. He places his hand on Steve’s nape and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “I’m glad you want to be  _ my _ boyfriend,” he says, then kisses Steve again.


	7. 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ultimate tony, ultimate steve, presidential duties, and a proposal.

Steve wakes up at seven on the dot, and he watches the dust motes dance in the sunlight filtering in from the large windows of their bedroom. He feels last night’s strange dream begin to drift away from his consciousness. 

Tony is draped over him, as usual. Steve looks at how the sunlight illuminates his skin, and feels a smile dawn on his face. He can’t think of a time he was this happy. Not that there were too many moments to pick from in the first place, but this—waking up beside Tony, and falling asleep next to him—makes Steve feel like the luckiest man alive.

Tony shifts in his sleep, mumbling under his breath: “Be my boyfriend,” he murmurs, and Steve smiles. Tony shifts a bit more, then cracks open an eye to look at Steve blearily.

“Good morning,” Steve says, bending down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Tony sits up with a jolt, turning his head this way and that as he takes in his surroundings. After a moment, he settles, sighing. “I had the strangest dream,” he says, turning to Steve. “We were in high school together. There was a dragon.”

Steve furrows his brow. “Me too. Except we were kids, and we were mutants.”

Tony laughs, and Steve smiles with him. “What powers did we have?”

“I can’t remember.” Steve shrugs.

“How absurd. I can’t believe we’re still dreaming of each other even if we already spend every waking moment together,” Tony says. “You think we’d tire of it.”

Steve bundles Tony up in his arms. “Never,” he says, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

Tony laughs again. “Sap,” he accuses. “People would never believe me if I told them what a sap you are.”

“Doesn’t stop you from trying,” Steve grouses, but reaches over to wrap an arm around Tony, digging his nose into the skin right between his shoulder and neck.

“Don’t you have a country to run?” Tony asks, turning toward Steve and playfully licking Steve’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

Steve pretends to mull it over. “Could wait a few more minutes,” he says, smirking.

“Minutes!” Tony squawks, indignant. “I demand at least an hour!”

Steve rolls Tony onto his back, Tony’s face framed between Steve’s hands. “Well then,” he says, leaning down to kiss Tony, “who am I to deny Tony Stark?”

*

“Something weird is going on,” Tony says over dinner. “Makes my teeth feel funny.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks as he cuts into his steak. He does his best to be casual, despite the box burning a hole in his pocket. He’s been planning this for months, and now they’re casually celebrating their second anniversary, neither of them really in the mood to waltz around town. Despite all of his planning, Steve doesn’t know how to steer the conversation. Tony’s always been better at words than he ever was.

“In the hospital earlier, there was a woman reading poetry to her husband,” Tony says thoughtfully. “A Borges poem.”

“Was it a nice poem?” Steve asks, smiling a little at Tony’s sudden deviation.

“Yeah, beautiful. There was a line, about… Well.  _ ‘Estar contigo o no estar contigo es la medida de mi tiempo. _ Being with you or without you is how I measure my time.’” Tony bites his lip, then laughs self deprecatingly. “Made me think about you, and how I’ve been having a lot of dreams about us.”

Tony pauses. “But they don’t feel like dreams. Not really.”

Steve smirks. “Who’s the sap now?”

“What?” Tony snaps out of his thoughts. “Darling, that’s not what I meant.”

Steve looks up at Tony’s piercing blue gaze and startles. Weren’t his eyes brown? They were, this morning, he was sure—but no. No. They’ve always been blue.

A knowing smile blooms on Tony’s face. “See? Something’s strange.”

“My dreams have been very vivid,” Steve acquiesces. “But they’re just dreams, Tony. Maybe the—“ he makes a gesture around his head, not wanting to bring up the tumor.

Tony brushes him off and ruminates.

“What I can’t figure out is why we haven’t woken up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are we still here? In my dreams, at least. We’re usually… figuring something out between us. And once we do, I wake up.”

Steve shrugs, then a realization dawns on him. He swallows, smiles, then reaches over the table to take Tony’s hand in his. He knows what to do, now, but doesn’t know if he wants to wake up in this dream or build a home in it.

Still, he knows he wants to do this, has been thinking about it for so long, and tonight, it finally feels _right_.

“Well, I think we’ve figured things out pretty well,” Steve says. 

“We have indeed, my dear.” Tony smiles, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

Steve’s heart swells with love, and he slides down to rest one knee on the floor. “So I was wondering. If you’d be interested in figuring things out with me for the rest of our lives.”

Tony gasps, his fork clattering onto his plate. “What?” he asks, mouth agape.

Steve presses a quick kiss to Tony’s hand and pulls out the velvet-wrapped box from his pocket.

“Tony Stark, will you marry me?”


	8. 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set after civil war - steve writes tony a letter, asks him if they could talk in person about everything going on between them. against his better judgment, tony goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my GOoOOOOD writing this was such a process, wow. a massive thanks to duck for always, always making my work better, and thanks to enki and space for cheer reading and helping me figure out how to tackle this. and thank you rise for being such a great help with bouncing around ideas!

Steve wakes up with a jolt and reaches out to his side. His hand hits air, lands ungracefully on the pale gray sheets of the anonymous bed. He rolls to his side and sighs, wondering why he was expecting anything other than emptiness. 

Still, the images are clear in his mind: Tony’s hand in his, Tony’s lips on his, Tony, Tony, Tony. It felt too real to be a dream, each moment clicking into place, but—that’s all they were. Dreams.

He didn’t want to believe those images, those  _ visions,  _ were anything more. But there’s an ache in his chest that’s only gotten worse since these visions started.

Steve mindlessly heads towards the bathroom, splashes water on his face, cataloguing every detail from this last dream. Tony had blue eyes, again, and there was something about a tumor. They were in love, and Steve had proposed. Steve rests his hands on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror as he thinks, remembers, and relishes in those thoughts. He sees something in the corner of his vision and he startles so badly that his hand slips from the sink and he nearly knocks his head against the porcelain.

Steve whips his head around and looks around the room. Just then, he had seen Tony, lying on the bed, raising a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. Steve splashes water on his face again and shakes away the thought, resolves not to give these dreams any more time than he already has. 

Except, the visions get worse: Tony leaning on the counter, drinking a cup of coffee. Tony sitting on the couch, tapping away at a tablet. Tony waiting for him when the elevator opens.

He’s been so on edge from looking over his shoulder the whole day that he spills water on himself when Natasha asks if he’s okay.

“Yes,” Steve says, struggling to keep his voice calm as he wipes the front of his shirt down with a paper towel. “I’m fine.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow in response, disbelief plain on her face.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Steve says lamely.

Steve spends the rest of the afternoon holed up in his room, trying and failing to read a book. It’s just that, in the corner of his eye, he can see Tony, blurry still, but there: sitting across him, reading a piece of paper.

He’s figured it out now, somewhat. These strange visions of Tony are only ever present if he’s not really looking, so he fights down the instinct to turn his head when Tony slams the paper down on the table and buries his face in his hands. Steve swallows hard, fights down the wild need to reach over and hold him close, because he knows full well that it’s nothing. It’s nothing.

Instead, Steve turns away, digs around his desk for a clean sheet of paper, and begins to write.

*

Tony’s alone in his room but even then, he’s not going to admit that his hands are shaking. He fumbles a little as he tries to find the catch in the envelope, eventually settling with ripping it open. 

He bites his lip and briefly considers just throwing the letter away; what’s left to be said, after everything? Surely he can’t hope to fix things now, this is what he wanted, after all. Still, this morning, Tony had nearly jumped out of his skin when he thought he saw Steve sitting at the breakfast table, eating cereal like he always did.

Tony tightens his jaw and unfolds the letter within. He only realizes he was holding his breath when all the air rushes out of him when he finishes reading.

He reads it again, and he’s alone, he’s alone, he’s alone, and he slams the letter down onto the desk, buries his face in his hands, and wills himself not to scream. 

> _ Tony— _
> 
> _ I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around the mansion by yourself. We all need family, and I know they’re taking care of you. I’ve been thinking about you, and I hope you’re doing well. _
> 
> _ I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry that I lied to you, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. I convinced myself that by not telling you, I was sparing you of that pain, but I see now that I was really sparing myself from a difficult conversation—one of many, that I should’ve been brave enough to have with you.  _
> 
> _ So here I am. I’m trying to be brave.  _
> 
> _ I want to let you know that I’ve been having dreams about you, visions, even, and something in my gut is telling me that things shouldn’t be this way. I think maybe there was a reason we were always arguing, always butting heads. Maybe there was a reason that out of everyone in the room, I’d stop and listen to you. The irony isn’t lost on me, especially after everything that led us to this point.  _
> 
> _ I’ll be in Canada three days from now, in the cabin we stayed in while Nat and Clint did recon on that Hydra base. I know I don’t have any right asking anything of you, but I hope to see you there. _
> 
> _ Steve _

Tony keeps his head in his hands and does his best not to claw at his own face, instead focuses on taking deep breaths. Surely, Steve knew he’d go, of course he would. Even after everything, against his better judgment (not that there was much of that to go around), he’d still drop everything for Steve.

He refuses to think about what that says about him.

Tony’s rolling his eyes at himself as he throws some clothes into a suitcase. He continues to roll his eyes at himself as he walks toward the chopper. Tony’s rolled his eyes at himself so many times he barely notices Steve sitting in the living room, writing.

Tony stops, does a double take, and as expected, there’s nothing there. He thinks he should be a bit more alarmed over these sudden delusions, but it’s not high on the list of things he should be worried about _ — _ because on the top of that list is Rhodey, sitting on the couch, his brows knotted together as he looks at Tony, waiting for him to explain himself.

“I’m just going to a thing,” Tony says, waving his hand around imperiously. He knows it won’t work, but he tries it anyway, just in case this is the first time it does.

Rhodey continues to frown at him.

“I’ll be back in like. A week, or something,” Tony says. “FRIDAY’ll update you, won’t you, Fri?”

“I will,” FRIDAY intones graciously.

“See.”

“You really don’t want backup for this, Tones?” Rhodey asks, and of course he knows what’s happening. 

“Can’t see what else he could do,” Tony laughs mirthlessly, and Rhodey winces. 

“I’m coming with you,” Rhodey says, moving to stand.

“No,” Tony says, resting a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder and pushing him back onto the couch. “You’re not, platypus. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

Rhodey takes a deep breath. “Daily updates,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that Tony isn’t willing to test.

“Yessir,” Tony says, throwing Rhodey a lazy salute as he saunters out the door. “I’ll be good! I love you!”

*

Tony runs a hectare-wide scan around the cabin before he sets down the chopper, mollified by the lack of any human activity. He’s glad he made it there first, just because it gives him as much of an upper hand that’s possible in a situation he’s already lost.

The cabin’s dusty with misuse, and Tony knows this is why Steve chose this place: no else one knows this cabin, and no one ever will. 

Try as they might, they’re both sentimental at heart, and it’s things like this that give them away. This was where the dam had broken, when they’d finally seen each other for who they were, with the help of a broken heater and cabin fever. They spent a week here, alone together, at first snapping at each other like they always did, until Tony cooked soup and Steve tried and failed to build a fire.

Tony remembers how he and Steve scooted close together in one of the beds, Tony shivering in the cold. He remembers how he cursed the old radiator, how he seriously considered scavenging the armor for parts if it meant the safety of being away from Steve. Even then, his want scared him. Turns out he was right to fear it, because here he is, except now he’s brought the tools and parts to actually fix the damn thing.

He’d laugh at the metaphor, but it isn’t apt; he knows that there are some things that are simply irreparable. To assume otherwise is stupid. So why was he here? Even he can’t answer that question, and he doesn’t want to, anyway. 

Tony’s elbow deep in the innards of the radiator when he hears the doorknob jiggle.

“Tony?”

Tony extricates himself from the heater and sits on his haunches. He briefly considers not saying anything and just leaving Steve outside.

“Tony, that is you, right?” It’s so quiet that Tony can hear Steve’s annoyed sigh. It gives him a small glimmer of pleasure amidst the panic of figuring out what he’ll say to Steve once he does decide to open the door. 

Tony sits for a bit longer, not really knowing why he’s not opening the door, but not knowing why he should anyway.

In the corner of his eye, he sees that Steve has taken to pacing outside of the cabin, massaging his temples with one hand.

Tony realizes this is the best moment to open the door—there’s enough space between them that if needed, he can slam it shut. Not that Steve couldn’t break down the door if he wanted to, but he hasn’t yet, so Tony hopes it doesn’t come to that.

He should’ve known better to trust his periphery, after a whole day of seeing Steve in it. He lets out a small, surprised sound when he opens the door and Steve falls flat on the ground from where he was leaning against the wood.

They stare at each other for a second, surprised by each other’s presence and surprised at how suddenly, the world is bursting with color. Everything feels new, and full, and complete.

Steve reaches up and pulls Tony down into a kiss that Tony doesn’t even think to refuse. 

They kiss like two drowned men fighting for air, pulling closer and closer until they’re flush against each other, Tony on top of Steve, lying down on the floor.

They break away and stare at each other in shock. Tony lifts himself up off Steve and stands.

“Okay, wow,” he says.

Steve touches his lips in wonder, and then catches himself. He stands up and dusts himself off.

“Tony,” he says, by way of belated greeting.

Tony clears his throat. “Steve.”

“Can I come in?” Steve asks, and Tony wants to laugh because just a few seconds ago they were kissing, they were swapping spit like teenagers and now Steve’s asking if he can come inside? There’s a crass joke there that Tony aches to make, but it feels easier to just pretend it didn’t happen. 

Tony takes a step back and holds the door open. Steve nods at him as he enters the cabin, and now they’re standing in the foyer in total silence.

Tony realizes how desperately he does not want to discuss this, any of this. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks.

“I can whip something up,” Steve says, and walks towards the kitchen.

Tony sighs, grateful that at least for now, they’re on the same page about putting this off. He heads back towards the radiator and picks up where he left off.

*

Steve stares at Tony’s door and takes a deep breath. It’s his fifth, now, and he’d taken quite a few just willing up the courage to go upstairs. Tony had said something earlier about taking a shower, and he’s been inside the bathroom for half an hour, at this point. Steve irrationally thinks that Tony knows he’s there, outside, waiting to talk to him.

Steve raises his hand to knock on the door when it swings open.

They stare at each other for a second—they’ve been doing that a lot, over the course of the day, when they’d just catch each other’s eyes, and then quickly look away. Steve tries to avert his gaze only to notice the towel wrapped around Tony’s waist. 

“We should talk,” Steve grinds out.

“Maybe not,” Tony says, then closes the door.

Steve frowns. “Tony.”

“No.”

Steve thunks his head against the wooden door. “Please, Tony,” he says. “At least let me know if it wasn’t just me—if you saw the same things—”

Tony throws the door open. He’s still in a towel. “I didn’t just see them, Steve. I lived them.”

Steve takes an involuntary step back as Tony takes a step forward.

“I don’t want to think about this anymore,,” Tony says, walking towards the bedroom. “I don’t know why I came here. It’s done.”

“But it’s not,” Steve says, grabbing Tony’s wrist with the hope of stopping him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Tony turns to Steve before shaking off his grip. “Steve, I have the right to arrest you. So maybe it is.”

For the third time that day, Tony shuts the door on Steve’s face.

*

Steve stops in his tracks when he enters the cabin. It smells like bacon. He cautiously pads inside and smiles to himself when he sees Tony, standing by the stove.

“You’re still here,” he breathes out, relieved.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Tony says dryly.

“And you’re cooking,” Steve laughs.

“It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Steve hoists himself up on the counter and watches Tony cook fondly.

“So how did you think this conversation would go?” Tony asks without looking up at Steve.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Tony snorts.

“Have you been seeing—” Steve chews on his lip as he thinks of the best way to word it “—have you been seeing me, even when I’m not there?”

Tony nods defeatedly. “I hate this,” he says.

Steve nods in agreement. “You think there’s an explanation to all this?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony says testily. “I’m as lost as you are.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs. He follows Tony towards the dining table and pours Tony a cup of coffee before he pours one for himself. “I was hoping you’d know.”

“Well I don’t,” Tony says, before taking a bite of his breakfast.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s start over,” he says. “First of all, I’m sorry that I lied about Bucky and your parents,” he says. He’s surprised his voice doesn’t crack when he says it, but his heart is hammering against his chest and his vision is a little cloudy. “I know I said it in the letter, but I wanted to say it in person, too. I’m sorry. I wish I’d done it differently, but I didn't, and I hurt you. I hope that someday you can forgive me.”

Tony exhales loudly. “Really?” he says, pushing his chair back as he stands abruptly. “Over  _ breakfast _ ?”

“There doesn’t seem to be a right time to do it!” Steve snaps.

“Maybe because you were going to fucking kill me!” Tony shouts. “Do you realize how fucking crazy it is that I’m here right now?”

“I do!”

“Good!”

“Thank you!”   


“You’re welcome!”

They stare at each other, breathing hard. 

“This is insane,” Tony says quietly as he turns on his heel and leaves.

*

Tony isn’t surprised that Steve finds him standing by the lake, staring at the murky green water. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? How they find each other, despite everything.

Steve stands beside him quietly, hands clasped behind his back.

Tony groans in annoyance. “So where do we start?” he asks, finally. He feels bound by this place, and bound to Steve. Maybe this is what it’ll take to finally be able to leave.

Steve shrugs. “You wanna head inside for this?” he asks.

“No,” Tony responds quickly. “I’d much rather have all this space to run away from you,” he adds with a hollow laugh.

Steve nods and seems to steel himself before saying, “I’m sorry we didn’t agree on the accords.”

Tony feels his eyes bug out. “Wow,” he exclaims. “No beating around the bush or anything.”

Steve shrugs again. “I’d like to get a word in before you run away from me again,” he says, smiling a little as if to let Tony know he’s teasing.

Tony laughs, feeling faint. “Just like that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. I’m sorry too, that you don’t agree with me. I wish you did.”

“I know.”

They’re quiet for a moment. A flock of birds fly overhead. This place is too beautiful, Tony thinks idly. 

“Have you thought about them, since then?” Tony asks.

“Yes.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?”

“That’s fair.”

“But—I’ll think about them some more. If that’s okay.”

“It is.”

The conversation feels stilted and clipped, and of course it is. Tony finds himself wishing for an easy out, wishing that one of them would find the right string of words to just make everything okay again.

Beside him, Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, takes a deep breath, and then assumes parade rest.

Tony wants to laugh because it’s so  _ obvious _ that Steve’s about to bring up something difficult, and wants to cry because damn him for still knowing Steve that well.

“I’d like us to talk about the visions,” Steve says, staring at the lake.

Tony sighs. “I think we were figuring them out, towards the end,” he says, glancing at Steve to measure his reaction.

Steve nods, all military efficiency, as if this were a tactical operation and not a conversation. Tony figures that it’s natural for them to fall into what’s easiest, because everything right now is so fucking difficult. Certainly explains why he’s been tugging his hand back from rubbing at his chest, worried about being as telling with his movements as Steve.

“They followed a certain pattern,” Steve says, and he looks at Tony. “And I think it meant to lead us to this.”

Tony frowns. “Is that why you wrote the letter?” he asks. “Did you feel like the universe was telling you something?” 

The tips of Steve’s lips turn down in a frown and Tony hates that he regrets not keeping the sarcasm from his tone.

“Like I said, Tony. It made me realize that there were conversations I should’ve had with you that I was too afraid to start. But it feels like it’s better late than never.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “And now you’re going to tell me you love me, is that it?”

Steve startles, then regains his composure almost immediately. 

“Tony, in all those dreams, in all those lives, we let ourselves love each other. Maybe it’s a disservice to each other that we’re not letting ourselves do that now,” he says.

“That’s a nice thought, Steve,” Tony turns away and looks around at the trees, the patches of sunlight filtering down and turning the grass gold. “But I wish you’d thought of that before you did everything you did.”

They’re silent for a while, listening to the sound of life burgeoning around them. It brings a strange dissonance.

Tony looks up when he sees Steve turn to him.

“I know,” Steve says softly. “I wish I’d said so, sooner. But it’s the truth. I love you, Tony. I’ve loved you for a long time but I was never brave enough to say it.”

Tony shakes his head, looking away from Steve’s piercing gaze. “But not enough, right?” 

Tony takes a deep breath before he continues: “Even after the universe telling us that we should just fuck already. Even if I see visions of you every waking moment that we’re not physically together. Even if in all those dreams we shared we made it work…” Tony pauses to massage his temples in an attempt to stave off a headache. 

“Whatever you feel—it’s not enough. Not really. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you’re just going to think about the accords but not actually sign them.”

Steve steps into Tony’s line of sight, as if insisting on his presence. “That’s not what love is about, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head to clear it of any sentimentality. “I don’t see what else there is to talk about.”

The sun’s high in the sky now, and it’s almost noon. Tony wishes he’d brought a tumbler with some coffee. Maybe even an Irish coffee. He wishes he’d eaten more of his breakfast, and drank some water before heading out. He wishes a lot of things, really, but not all of them deserve to be named.

“Can we take a recess on this?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him as heavy as the pollinated air.

Steve sighs and says, “Okay.”

*

They prepare lunch in silence, and sit beside each other on the sofa as they let the indistinct noise of the radio wash over them.

Steve washes the dishes and Tony makes them another pot of coffee.

Tony stares at the coffee percolating and wants to scream at how easy it is between them, how painfully domestic and wonderful, how he could’ve had this, how maybe, maybe, maybe, he still could.

“Tony,” Steve says softly, calling him out of his thoughts.

“Please, Steve, just leave it,” Tony says, not looking up from the pot.

“I know it’s going to take a lot to gain your trust back,” Steve says. “I know it’s going to take a lot to get you to even look at me for more than ten seconds. But—” 

Tony glances up at Steve, surprised by the abrupt pause. Their eyes meet briefly, and then Tony looks back down. 

“But I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

Tony seriously considers pouring the boiling coffee on himself just to end this conversation, and what does that say about him?  _ What does it fucking say? _

Tony laughs mirthlessly. “I seriously just considered pouring this shit on me to get away from this conversation,” he says, still laughing a little, and maybe he’s about to cry but nobody has to know that.

“Please don’t,” Steve says gently, and takes a few cautious steps toward Tony, as if to ensure that he doesn’t.

Tony whirls around and looks at Steve, overwhelmed by the emotion bursting forth from inside him at the sudden tenderness. “What’s the point?” he shouts. “What’s the fucking point?” His hands fly up to his hair on their own accord, and he’s about to start pulling when Steve takes his hands in his and he grips them tight.

“I think the point is that we’re meant to be together, Tony.”

Tony snatches his hands away from Steve’s. “Don’t fucking spout that feel good bullshit on me, Rogers. Do you understand the statistical probabilities of us just hurting each other, over and over again? Do you recognize the extreme likelihood that I’ll fuck it up?” Tony’s breathing is labored and tears are stinging his eyes. He looks away, hoping that Steve can’t tell. “Let’s just save ourselves the trouble and walk away while we can,” he says quietly.

“You know,” Steve says, and he takes a step back as he gives Tony room to breathe. “In all those dreams, I think we did hurt each other, and that’s part of the risk of caring for someone, isn’t it? That we probably will hurt each other again, and I’m not saying it’s okay, or that I’m expecting it, it’s just, that’s the way it is. But that fear of hurt, of being hurt and of hurting, it’s not a good enough reason for me to ever stop caring for you.” Steve swallows. “For me to ever stop loving you.”

Tony’s cheeks are wet and he will not admit that he’s crying, but he is, he is absolutely crying and he hates it with every fiber of his being. He knows, he knows better than to believe this, knows better than to bet on it.

But then again, Tony’s always been about taking stupid risks. And this might be the one risk that’s worth taking, and doesn’t that make it the stupidest one of all?

Tony sags against the wall and buries his face in his hands.

He hears Steve walk toward him, feels his presence crouched down in front of him.

Tony focuses on his breathing, surprised by how soothing it feels just to have Steve breathe along with him.

“Can I hold you?” Steve asks.

Tony nods, and breathes in as Steve bundles him up in his arms. Their cheeks are pressed against one another’s and Steve murmurs apologies as Tony continues to walk himself out of a panic attack.

They stay huddled together like that for what feels like hours until eventually, Tony pulls away and gazes at Steve.

Steve bites his lip, then says, “I love you, Tony.”

Tony nods, and they untangle themselves and stand. Tony heads up to the bedroom and pauses mid-step to look back at Steve, who’s standing at the foot of the stairs, a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

Tony turns away before Steve sees the same smile mirrored on his lips.

*

Tony wakes up the next morning to the sound of a car engine starting.

He’s not thinking when he throws open the door and runs down the stairs, and he yelps as he nearly crashes into Steve.

“I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye,” Steve says, and looks a bit embarrassed. “It’s just a diesel engine and I was worried about the chill.”

“You would,” Tony says, laughing despite himself.

Steve’s smile shifts from embarrassed to pleased at the sound of Tony’s laugh, and Tony’s struck by how beautiful it is, to do that to someone.

He hates that he wishes he could do it all the time.

“Anyway,” Steve says after a moment. “I wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a prehistoric phone from his pocket.

“For me to donate to a museum?” 

Steve laughs a little. “No, to call me,” he says, and Tony’s half-annoyed and half-enamored at how earnest Steve sounds.

Tony takes the phone gingerly, and tucks it into his pocket.

“I know we haven’t really figured things out,” Steve says, and his hands move jerkily from his side as if he was going to touch Tony but thought better of it. “But I wanted to let you know that I’m not giving up on you, Tony. I think I’ve made myself clear about how I feel, and I want to give you the space to think about everything I’ve said.”

Tony nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Steve nods back at him, then, this time, he does reach out to touch Tony, resting his hand on Tony’s wrist.

Tony takes a small step forward, eyes locked on Steve’s, and he raises his hand to cup Steve’s jaw.

Steve smiles at him, a small, secret thing, just like the emotion slowly unfurling between them. Tony smiles back, closes his eyes, and finally, in this universe, kisses Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://firebrands.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/firebrandss)!


End file.
